Timesplitters: Future Perfect
by Absoltheharbinger
Summary: My personal novelisation of the Free Radical swansong of the same name. I do not own any of the stuff mentioned within kind of goes without saying, as this is fanfiction ... . As this is a novelisation, some artistic license was used with the storyline, and Cortez does, in fact, talk. Rated for language and minor adult themes.
1. 2401 Time To Split

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Timesplitters: Future Perfect. Though I wish Crytek would get a bloody move on to make the fourth, or at least a re-boot of FP ...**_

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_**Time to Split – 2401**_

The year is 2401. Mankind stands on the verge of a mortal struggle with an evil alien race called the Timesplitters. A lone ship streaks towards Earth. Onboard are nine stolen time crystals. The plan: to go back in time, destroy the crystals at their source, and end the Timesplitter War before it even begins ...

The ship bucked and shook in the turbulence as it entered the atmosphere of the barren, rusty-looking planet. Its pilot gripped the controls tightly, determined to keep the fighter on a steady course.

"Unidentified craft, please state identity."

"This is Sergeant Cortez," the man said, in a deep voice.

"Sergeant Cortez! Hold on a sec, Sarge, I'll patch you through to the General."

A moment later the gruff tones of the General said "Sergeant Cortez."

"General, what's going on down there?"

"It's the 'Splitters; we're under attack. Do you have them?"

Cortez glanced at the case on the seat next to him. It was clamped shut, but through the window on the lid he could see the glittering green crystals that he and his comrade had fought so hard to retrieve. "Got 'em right here, General."

"Good job," the General barked through the radio.

Suddenly, warning lights flashed, filling the cockpit with a deep red glow. The thick, crumpling noise of an explosion filled the small spacecraft as an anti-air battery scored a hit on the right wing. Sgt. Cortez heaved on the controls, desperate to stay in the air, but he was in vain.

On the ground, a beast of some sort was drinking the blood of a recently deceased soldier. Suddenly it looked up, watching the smoking fighter tumble out of the sky. It appeared unconcerned, and went back to its feeding.

The world was upside down to Cortez. Above him was the scorched, buckled debris of the fighter, and the dusty floor of a shallow canyon. Below, an orange sky dotted and streaked with dogfighters, and of course, the wreckage. A couple of soldiers were running along about ten feet above him. He could hear faint snippets of conversation over the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

" … Hey, there's Sergeant Cortez! And he's alive!"

"Say, why's he hanging upside-down? Come on, Cortez, on your feet!"

It was then that Cortez realised he was dangling from a confused tangle of cables and straps. He struggled, but suddenly tumbled from the web and landed heavily on his head.

"Ouch, that's _gotta _hurt!" shouted the first soldier, running over to help him up. It _did_ hurt, but Cortez was made of sterner stuff. "You OK, Sarge?"

Cortez nodded. He had the feeling he had lost something precious, but couldn't remember quite what. On his back he had strapped the case containing the crystals. "Come on, Cortez. We need to get you back to base," said the soldier again, "Whatever you did really stirred up the 'Splitters!"

"Here, take this weapon," said the other soldier, handing him a pistol and a handful of power cells that constituted for ammo. "We're gonna need all the firepower we can get. Come on, move out!"

They met up with a couple of soldiers who were heading for the crash site. One pushed a button on his helmet. "General, this is Private Hicks. We've found Sergeant Cortez. Returning to base."

"Great work, soldier. Get him safely back to base. Those crystals may be our last chance."

"The rest of us are spread out along the route to cover our retreat," shouted Private Hicks, answering Sergeant Cortez's unasked question.

It was not long before they reached a fissure in the canyon, plugged not far from their position by another downed fighter. Before even Cortez could react, black-clad men poured from hidden positions along the clearing, blazing away with their own pistols. These men were obviously not regular soldiers; they wore tight black suits with numerous sheathed knives on their thighs and backs. At first glance they had no faces, but it soon transpired that they were merely wearing full-head masks, also in black, with a faceplate dominated by a strange gold motif of a single staring eye radiating sunbeams.

Cortez and the soldiers instinctively ducked into the little cover they could get from the rugged cliff-face and chunks of wrecked fighter.

"Who are they? They're not 'Splitters!" barked one of the soldiers, leaning out to take a shot. A stream of blue energy lanced from the handgun, but it went wide.

Cortez rolled away from the wall, and, holding the gun in a two handed grip, scored a couple of perfect head shots. Seizing the initiative, another couple of soldiers followed suit. The black-clad ambusher collapsed under the incandescent volley.

"Hey, Cortez, are these friends of yours?" asked one of the soldiers, who fired a handful of shots into another hostile on the other side of the gaping fissure.

"This way!" shouted Private Hicks, signalling a gap in the wreckage that enabled the soldiers to drop down to the other side.

No sooner had they reached the other side when more of the strange warriors opened fire, but they too were gunned down. Cortez ran ahead. About two hundred yards on was a handful of soldiers struggling to stem the tide of the warriors. One ducked behind a rock just before a searing stream of rapid fire autorifle shots. Cortez fired at once, taking out the plasma autorifle-toting grunt before he could realise he was being shot at. Several grunts noticed him and shot at him. Cortez winced as a shot hit him in the leg. A couple of soldiers caught up and added their own shots to the frenzy of plasma.

"Say, where's Corporal Hart?" asked one of the soldiers, as Cortez reached for the fallen plasma autorifle. He loaded it up with the spare ammo the grunt had been carrying.

"Corporal who?" asked someone else.

"Never mind."

A huge explosion lit the sky ahead. A huge ship was falling as in slow motion, ponderously blazing a trail through the sky. The Timesplitter mothership was coming down. Cortez and the squad sprinted for the cover of a nearby canyon. As they reached safety, Private Hicks glanced back.

"Damn it! That's the seventh time we've repaired the bridge!"

Not far ahead, a soldier rounded the corner only to get gunned down by a storm of plasma.

"Miller?" someone shouted after him. "Damn it, we've lost Miller!"

He turned to face the new arrivals. "Oh, Sergeant Cortez, great timing!" He indicated the corner. "We're pinned down here and we can't get through. Take this sniper and clear out the enemy!"

Cortez accepted the sniper, crouched, and peered around the corner. In a corridor set high up in the cliff was a pair of the black-clad thugs. They soon noticed they were being watched, and levelled the autorifles at the speck at the other end of the valley that was Sergeant Cortez.

Cortez, however, maintained his composure, and fired the sniper rifle. A single laser beam, a needle of bright orange in the thick atmosphere of the planet, shot straight and true. It missed the thugs, instead burning through the thick metal casing of a fuel canister.

The resulting explosion enveloped the scene in a flash of bright purple light. The bodies of the black soldiers were vaporised in the cloud of caustic fumes billowing from the mangled casing. "Great shot, Cortez!" shouted Private Hicks.

The squad, no longer pinned down by plasma autorifle fire, headed up the valley. "The base is just up ahead," explained one of the soldiers.

Suddenly, several soldiers screamed "Timesplitter!". A grotesque creature landed in front Cortez. It was a brown, fleshy colour, similar to the rocks. Its body was vaguely humanoid, but only in the way that a gorilla is, and galloped on all fours. Its face was little more than a wide, gaping maw stuffed to bursting with inch-long fangs, and was framed by four long, goring tusks on either side of its jaw and on its forehead. It had no discernable eyes or nose, but all Cortez cared about was killing the foul animal.

He fired several shots into the Timesplitter's body, but it had sheer resilience on its side, and it smacked Cortez across the jaw with a fist like a ham that had sprouted a pair of wicked, hooked claws. Cortez was sent sprawling. He rolled over to see the 'Splitter leaping at him, ready the disembowel him. In a sudden act of defiant desperation, he shot the Timesplitter in the chest and head. It screeched in pain and was bowled over by the force of the shots.

Cortez picked himself up, vented the excess heat from the plasma autorifle, and set off, the soldiers in tow like a faithful flock of sheep.

The canyon opened into a large plateau, dropping off to the east into a sheer cliff. A rocky ridge cut their position from the stark metal gate of the Space-Time Marine HQ. A sudden cry of pain alerted their attention to a soldier leaning against the wall, a Timesplitter tearing at his throat with frenzied determination. Cortez pumped several shots into the creature's skull. Someone cried for a medic, but it was too late.

"Cortez, man that gun emplacement!" someone barked. Cortez occupied it not a moment too soon; 'Splitters were flooding over the cliff. Cortez strafed fire left and right, for the Timesplitters kept disappearing and reappearing, hurled deadly bolts of lightning as they went. The only giveaway to their location until the camouflage wore off was a faint ripple in the air.

"They're coming out of the walls! THEY'RE COMING OUT OF THE GODDAMN WALLS!" a soldier screamed, indicating the south walls of the canyon. Indeed, for the sudden appearances of the 'Splitters (Berserker Splitters, Cortez remembered), they could well have been popping out of the walls. For what seemed like an eternity, but was merely thirty-seven seconds, Cortez pounded the 'Splitters with fire until they were little more than shredded carcasses.

"Reinforcements have arrived," someone shouted, "Cortez, hold your fire!"

Cortez released the controls of the turret. Normal people would have probably fainted under the onslaught, but Sergeant Cortez was a Space-Time Marine, not to mention one of the best: dispatching Timesplitters wherever they rear there ugly heads was his speciality.

Cortez and the soldiers advanced around the rock ridge. Suddenly, more Berserkers clambered and leaped over the cliff-lip. Cortez wheeled left and right, peppering the ground with fire only to find that the 'Splitters were behind him.

"Shoot anything with teeth bigger than its face?" someone shouted, although it wasn't much help.

The situation began to look desperate, but suddenly lances of sniper fire massacred the foul Berserkers where they stood.

"We're getting fire support from somewhere!" someone said, seeing Cortez's confused expression.

"Come on, Cortez! Get the crystals to the base, the General's waiting! We can hold them off here!"

Cortez ran for the base, taking his precious cargo with him. No-one noticed the black, hooded figure standing on a balcony on the southern cliffs.

The General was a tall man, with cropped white hair and an air of authority. A sudden whooshing noise of the doors made him turn. A large, bulky man entered. He was wearing dull grey body armour and combat trousers, not unlike those worn by most of the human army. His head was completely bald, and he wore a strapless pair of goggles with black lenses. All that indicated he had eyes were the glowing red dots in the middle of each lens. He bore marks of the struggle to return to the base.

"Ah, Sergeant Cortez, you made it. Have you got the crystals?"

Cortez showed him the case. "Got them right here."

"Excellent."

He stepped into a lift and motioned Cortez to follow.

"Now, we've found that time crystals leave a kind of energy residue where they are used," announced the General. "We're planning to send you back to find these residues. I know it's not much to go by on, but it's the best shot we've got. Ah, we've arrived," he said, as the lift pinged to a halt. The doors slid open.

"Oh, Cortez. Meet Anya, our chief science officer."

A slight young woman stood on the other side of the doors. Her uniform was a blue and tan skin-tight affair, and she stared at the case in Cortez's hand.

"Are those ..?" she asked in awe.

Cortez lifted up the case and opened it. Nine time crystals, looking like crystal lightning bolts, lay nestled in foam inserts.

"Excellent, put them in the time machine!" Anya said, somewhat excitedly, as though she never thought that the moment would arrive.

Cortez handed the case to a waiting soldier, who took it and began locking them into their brackets arranged in a circle in the centre of the room.

They walked over to a large chair surrounded by computers. One showed a map. "The largest concentration of that residue is right here," the General continued, pointing to a spot on the map.

Cortez stared at the map. It showed Scotland. But where the General was pointing was ...

"That's in the ocean."

"It is _now_. There _was_ an island there, but it was destroyed in a battle in 1924."

"We're going to send you there, just before the battle," Anya concluded. "Here, hold out your arm," she added, striding towards Cortez with a circular object, which she clamped to Cortez's right arm.

"An uplink to the time machine. This way, we'll be able to communicate with you."

"I'm sorry, Cortez. But I need to send the best on this mission, and that's you," said the General consolingly.

Cortez sighed, but merely nodded, stepping into the middle of the circle of crystal brackets.

"OK, get to the island, find the crystals, and destroy the lot. How hard can it be?"

"Good luck," Anya said, and seated herself at the console. The floor opened up, leaving the bracket and pillar in the centre. The bracket began to spin, as did pylons in the bowels of the time machine. Faster and faster, until Sergeant Cortez disappeared in a haze of blue ripples.


	2. 1912 Scotland the Brave

_**Scotland the Brave – 1924**_

It was a dull, cloudy day; the water iron-grey and still around the Scottish island of Urnsey. The only irregularity in view was a man in a rowing-boat, making steady progress for the island and humming 'Row Row Row Your Boat' merrily to himself.

Captain Ash was a man with a neat mop of brown hair brushed into a comb-over and a large moustache. He wore a leather fleece-lined jacket and breeches, leather gloves and boots and a brass-framed monocle. He was, in a nutshell, a Boer War veteran, a good soul, and about as British as a cricket bat.

He didn't notice the loud hissing noise or the burst of white light behind him, but he _did_ notice the yell of surprise and splash as something large fell in the water. Captain Ash swivelled in his seat just in time to see a large hand wearing fingerless gloves burst from the water and grab hold of the side of the boat.

"What the?" he exclaimed, dropping his pipe in astonishment.

Sergeant Cortez heaved himself up from the freezing sea and spat out a mouthful of water.

"Any chance of a hand?"

Never let it be said that Captain Ash was a selfish man. He leaned over and helped hoist Cortez into the boat. Once he was in, Captain Ash asked politely, "I say, what are you doing way out here, old chap?"

"I'm _supposed_ to be on that island," replied Cortez bitterly, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

"Are you sure, old bean? This entire area is about to be bombed to kingdom come!"

"What?" asked Sergeant Cortez, confused. "By who?"

"Well, by the Navy, of course!" said Captain Ash, as though pointing out something obvious. Sure enough, massing to the south of Urnsey was a huge Navy fleet. Biplanes whirred overhead.

"Damn it!" shouted Cortez.

"Oh, don't worry about them, old boy!" laughed Captain Ash, before leaning in conspiratorially. "There's someone I have to find on the island first." He leaned back triumphantly. "Those Navy chaps won't fire until _I_ give the signal."

Unnoticed by the pair, a sniper on the battlements of the castle took aim at Captain Ash. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the trigger.

Fortunately, the Captain happened to lean back at that very moment. Captain Ash took a pull from his pipe, only to find it wrenched from his lips suddenly by the sniper's shot. He glanced at the castle on the island.

"That was my best pipe, you BOUNDERS!" he bellowed, shaking his fist at the sniper. Cortez glanced around the boat for a weapon, spying a flare gun nestled at the Captain's feet. Unorthodox, it must be said, but it could do the trick. He grabbed it, levelling it at the sniper.

Captain Ash saw his plan. He didn't like it. "No, don't!"

"Get down!" Cortez yelled, and fired the flare. The projectile followed a perfect trajectory, a graceful parabola that ended with a perfect hit. The sniper's body tumbled silently down the hill and into the water.

"Good shot, old man!" Captain Ash said admiringly. Cortez inspected the flare gun.

"I don't think much of this weapon," he muttered, flinging the now-spent gun into the sea.

"Well, I'm afraid you've let the cat out of the bag now!" said Captain Ash, returning to the rower's seat and tugging on the oars.

"Why?"

Cortez's question was answered by a 5.9 calibre explosive shell that missed the boat by a whisker, but was enough to throw an unsuspecting Cortez into the air. He landed back in the boat with a heavy bump.

"What's going on?" he asked the seemingly unperturbed Captain.

"That flare was the signal!" he shouted over the squeal of shells, the thumping of the ordnance barrage and the howl of biplane engines. "It's going to get a bit hairy from here on!" Cortez detected a hint of amusement in the war veteran's tone.

"Damn it! OK; if you can get us to shore, without getting us killed, I'll help you find your friend! OK?"

"Good show, sir! Consider it done!"

They made land on a small, unexceptional beach hidden from the assault by a large headland.

"Well, we'd better make the most of things, old boy. Take this gun and let's see if we can reach the castle in one piece. Last one alive's a big girl's blouse!"

Cortez accepted the gun. It was a small pistol, a Kruger 9mm with silencer. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. Cortez and the Captain made their way up what looked like an old supply road. A bizarre crackling filled his ears, followed by a voice he was sure was coming from the temporal uplink, but sounded in his ears like a normal conversation.

"Hey, this is Anya. Are you reading me OK? If the crystals _are_ on the island, they'll probably be deep in the heart. Best you search thoroughly."

A couple of guards rounded the corner just at the wrong moment, noticing Cortez.

"Eentruder!" one shouted in a strong Russian accent, but was quickly dispatched by Cortez, along with his comrade. They were wearing crude uniforms of leather and steel armour and one was carrying an old-fashioned sniper rifle.

They headed along the wide road quickly. Suddenly, a loud thudding noise roared from a machine-gun nest further up the hill. Cortez and Captain Ash were forced to duck behind a thick, stone wall.

"They've got a machine-gun post and the high ground, old boy!" Captain Ash shouted over the racket. "In the finest traditions of the British Army, I suggest a full frontal!" He suddenly realised what he had said. "Assault, that is!"

Cortez held back nonetheless. Eventually, the firing stopped as the machine-gun overheated. With agility defying his bulk, he rolled out of the cover and fired off the pistol. Silencing was pointless; they already knew the pair were there. The guards crumpled.

Cortez headed on up the path, accompanied by Captain Ash, who had just caught up. They made steady progress, until Cortez yelled "Duck!" seconds before they were fired at by a sniper on the bridge between a couple of towers. Cortez levelled his pistol at the sharpshooter, fired once, twice, three times. The assailant fell as a bullet flew through the vision slit of his helmet. Cortez pulled out the rifle he took from the dead Russian's fingers earlier; he had a feeling he was going to need it.

They had barely walked two hundred yards when they heard a shout from a guard.

"You, over zere; _you_, over _zere_! Hold zis pozision!"

Cortez looked up. Snipers were mobilising on the battlements of a gatehouse. He focused the scope, and opened fire. His first shot hit a guard in the heart, the second missed, the third hit another guard. The last guard fired, and hit Cortez in the shoulder, but he merely grimaced, before landing a neat headshot.

He and Captain Ash pushed open the gates to the gatehouse. It seemed unguarded. That was Cortez's first mistake. No sooner had they cleared the gateway when a heavy steel portcullis dropped over both exits.

"Zey're trapped! Attack!" bellowed a guard on the upper tier.

Cortez was forced to hide behind piles of supply crates under the onslaught. He decided it would be best to target the explosive-looking barrels littered around. This proved a good idea, with the guards dropping like the flies from the detonations.

A guard ran down a stairwell, firing at Cortez with a primitive submachine-gun. He soon killed the guard, and stooped to inspect the weapon.

"This weapon is not on file for this time period," explained Anya through the uplink, sounding slightly confused.

"Perhaps it was custom-built," hazarded Cortez. It may not have been a plasma autorifle, but it was a gun and that was good enough for him. It was built very sturdily, and had a rugged quality to it. This was a gun someone could depend on.

The rest was easy after that. The armour of the guards could barely stand up to 9mm pistol shots. It was no match for the destructive power of the SMG. Soon, he found a control room, with a large lever marked 'East Portcullis'. Cortez almost laughed with exasperation. These guards were not hired for skill; they were hired for their numbers and expendability.

The hammering sounds of a machine-gun and yells of Captain Ash filled the gatehouse.

"Drat, the gunboat's got me pinned down! Can you find a way of disabling it somehow?"

Cortez glanced down. The boat he noticed earlier was firing a stack of crates he presumed the Captain was hiding behind.

He felt he owed Captain Ash a favour, and began to search for a means to destroy the turret.

"The crane controls," Anya advised.

Cortez heaved on the controls for the cargo crane. The brass levers were stiff, but they grated into position. He directed it to the machine-gun, and lowered the jib. The three claws clamped down on the turret, and slowly prised it from the mounting like a toad from a stone.

The gunner was still firing in protest when Cortez manoeuvred the jib. He released the turret, which fell in the water and sank like a stone. He released the controls and headed back down the stairs to find the Captain.

As they left the gatehouse, they turned the corner to see an old-fashioned army truck spin out of control and plunged off the edge of a wooden dock.

"The pygmies of Olowonga were tougher than this!" tutted Captain Ash. Cortez decided not to ask exactly _where_ Olowonga was.

Cortez spotted another truck parked nearby. They decided to take it. No sooner had the thing got into gear, when Captain Ash began whooping and hollering like some demented ape, firing away with the truck's machine-gun.

"This is the life! The wind in your hair and a big weapon in your hands!"

"This reminds me of the war!"

"Tally ho!"

"Oh dear," said Anya, who could probably hear him. "This isn't at all safe, though that castle may provide some protection."

They rammed through a wrought-iron gate, tearing it from its rusted hinges and crushing a couple of guards unfortunate enough to be under them as they fell. Cortez could even hear one of them cursing in Russian.

Then they were stuck. A drawbridge had been raised and the controls were on the other side of the gorge. Once again, Anya came up with an ingenious response.

"Your uplink is fitted with a telekinetic manipulator. Try using it on the controls."

Cortez flexed his fingers experimentally. A couple of stones flew up to meet his hand. He realised that the uplink was mind-controlled. He pulled at thin air and, sure enough, the lever began to rotate, winching down the drawbridge.

"There you go," said Anya.

"What a nifty bit of kit, old boy!" cried Captain Ash. "Do you reckon I could use one of those to, say, open bank vaults?" Cortez and Anya made a point of ignoring him.

It was fairly easy going after that. The guards were less numerous as they advanced up the hill; most of the guards were riddled with lead shot further down the island. Cortez and Captain Ash soon reached the main gates, which were, predictably, locked.

"I don't suppose politely knocking will work," said Cortez with a smirk. He began scanning around for something to open the gates.

Fortune favoured him, in the form of several sticks of TNT and a timer, left behind by a guard killed by a plane's machine-gun. Captain Ash saw him pick it up.

"Well, you've got the explosives, boy! It's time this door wasn't here!" And with that, he hid round the corner, out of the blast radius. Cortez primed the TNT, and stood back.

"Something tells me the Captain's done this before," mused Anya.

The TNT detonated seconds later, turning the doors to twisted wrecks. The blast also killed off a handful of guards who were standing just behind.

"Zere goes the gate!" shouted a guard, unwittingly giving his position. Cortez picked him off with a burst of SMG fire, but that was enough to alert all guards in the area that the castle was under siege. Guards swarmed out of the narrow, medieval corridors. Cortez and Captain Ash mowed them down with gunfire, but that didn't stop them suffering several hits in return.

Once the dust had settled, Cortez scanned the area for any more guards waiting to ambush them, but there were none. Cortez walked on at a slow pace, guns loaded and ready for action. Captain Ash turned into a turret 'to signal the Navy chaps'. Soon Cortez reached a large room with little more than dust to furnish it. A large, studded door stood at the other end. Assuming it was the way forwards, he tried the handle. It was locked tight. He shrugged and turned around.

"Psst!"

Cortez looked around. There was no-one there, but then it happened again.

"Up here!" came a hoarse whisper, like someone trying to make themselves heard without raising their voice.

Cortez looked up, and saw, through a grating in the ceiling … himself.

Cortez stared hard at the apparition. It looked exactly like him, except with a few more signs of combat, and was smiling knowingly. It gave a little wave.

"But … you're _me_," said Cortez, confused and slightly disconcerted by the sudden apparition of himself.

The Cortez-thing laughed. "I knew you would say that. Here," he said, and dropped a shiny object through the grating. Cortez caught it; it was a large, heavy brass key.

"A key, but what does it ..?"

"You'll figure it out. Just remember to pass it on when you're done." And with that, the other Cortez walked off.

Cortez stared at the key in his hand. "What was all that about?"

"I don't know, Cortez. But I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."

The door opened up to reveal a wine cellar. Large barrels of wine lined the walls, along with crates of beer and other alcohols. One guard sat in a niche between two wine barrels, clutching a bottle of strong Russian beer. More ended up down his front than his throat.

"'S me!" he exclaimed in a slurred voice, once he realised he had company. "'S all me! I'm best! Bestest guard! God of guards! Wizzout me; no guarding! And the ladies, hehehe, they like it!" He affected a cracked falsetto. "Ooh, such a hairy chest! Such a _big_ medallion!" Cortez decided to put the man out of his misery, and shot him in the head. He saw a flare gun lying next to the drunkard, and picked it up.

"Might need this," said Cortez to himself.

"I say, hello down there!" came the cheery voice of the Captain. He was at the top of the lift in the corner, and punched a button as Cortez stepped on. The lift was arthritically slow, and groaned at the sudden movement. "I heard gunfire, and I thought it had to be you! Well, I'm off; there's someone I have to rescue!" And with that, he jogged off round the corner and out of sight.

The corridors were low and narrow, and Cortez heard a guard walking down a nearby landing.

"Vhy are zere bugs efryvhere?" he asked no-one in particular. Cortez dispatched him silently and quickly. He was in luck; no-one heard.

There were a couple of guards arguing in the bedroom, who stumbled around in an attempt to find cover. Cortez shot them with the SMG. About halfway down the next corridor, a glassy, silvery circle appeared in mid-air. Beams of light lanced out from it.

"Whoa! Anya, what's that?" Cortez asked.

He inspected it closely. Through some bars on the floor, he saw … himself.

"Hey, isn't that me?"

"It sure looks like it."

"Yeah; that's where _I_ was when the _other_ me gave me that … key." He pulled the key from his pocket.

Realisation must have also dawned on Anya, because she suddenly shouted, "Of course, it's a wormhole! All the time travel in the area must have destabilised the time field!"

Cortez made up his mind, he ran through the portal, which soon dissipated. Nothing seemed to be wrong. He crouched over the bars.

"Psst!"

The Past Cortez looked around. There was no-one there, but then he hissed again.

"Up here!" he whispered.

Past Cortez looked up, and saw him. He waved, to keep own attention.

His past self stared hard at him. It was hard to tell his expression. What would he interpret him as? A hallucination? A memory? Maybe even a _threat_? Cortez could have slapped himself; he didn't try to kill his future self, so why would his past self?

"But … you're _me_," said Past Cortez eventually.

Cortez laughed. "I knew you would say that. Here," he said, and dropped the key through the grating. Past Cortez caught it, and stared at it incomprehension.

"A key, but what does it ..?"

"You'll figure it out. Just remember to pass it on when you're done." And with that, Cortez walked off, leaving his past self with a bemused expression.

"Heh, that was cool," he said to Anya.

Anya obviously didn't feel the same way. "Cortez!" she fumed into the uplink, sounding like an angry mother, whose child had just jumped into a particularly muddy puddle. "You can't just jump through any wormhole you see! They're dangerous!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Cortez, every time you interact with you past or future self, you risk creating a time paradox!"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be careful."

Anya groaned with frustration.

He soon reached a door. It was unlocked, but there were voices on the other side, and he doubted they would like to be overheard.

" … Eet looks like ve've outstayed our velcome, sir. Ve've lost contact vith ze defenders down on ze beach. Ve also believe that two eentruders have penetrated ze castle …"

A louder, more severe voice cut over him. One thing was certain; it wasn't Russian. "I don't care about that! What about the equipment?"

"Eet ees almost all down, sir. Ve're just sending the last few crates now."

"Good, now make sure none of it gets damaged! That equipment is very important, Reinhart, and I need it a lot more than I need you! Understand?"

Cortez carefully sneaked through the door. The balcony above the hall creaked ominously. He froze, but it was too late.

"Up there! On the balcony! Get him! Get everyone below!" Cortez vaguely saw a bald man fleeing the scene. Gunfire peppered the column next to him.

The rifle kicked and jerked spasmodically as he fired at the guards. They appeared to have been holding a conference of some sort in the castle's dining hall. Judging by the fact they were also carrying SMG's, it was unlikely they were discussing break-even charts and employee motivation.

Cortez lobbed a grenade down, looking over in time to see two bodies fly through the air along with the broken chunks of fine antique matchsticks that used to be the dining table.

He jumped over the balcony, yelling a war-cry that would have impressed any Celtic warlord. He landed on the last guard's shoulders and the guard (Warrant Officer Cain, according to the name sewn to his uniform) crumpled. There was a sickening crunch of bone. Cortez gave him a once-over.

"Three cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a broken leg and a broken spine," he diagnosed, patting the man on the jaw. Warrant Officer Cain moaned weakly, swearing in Russian agony. "You'll live," Cortez said, chuckling, before walking to the door.

"Cortez, your battle finesse is unparalleled," Anya said sarcastically. She paused for a moment. "That man; if anyone knows about what's going on here, it's him."

Cortez grabbed the door handle. The brass doorknob rattled unhelpfully. Cortez tried again. The doorknob cracked off in his hand. He swore an oath that wouldn't exist for another four hundred years.

"It's locked," laughed Anya.

Cortez swore again. He stood back and gave the door a hefty kick. He kicked in the perfect manner; right next to the lock, with as much force as his leg would give. The ancient wood in the frame gave. As it was supposed to. What the door wasn't supposed to do was to fly open at full speed and smash into the wall with enough noise to wake the dead. Cortez shouldered the gun, aiming it down the corridor. A figure in a brown coat burst from a branching room and Cortez opened fire.

The man bolted back into the room, shouting "Steady on, old bean!" over the racket. There was only one man _that_ could have been.

"Captain Ash," said Cortez with a sigh, flicking the safety on. "What are you doing here?"

"You're just the man I was looking for!" called the Captain. The room, it transpired, was a prison cell. A huge barred gate sealed off half of the room. Inside there was a small sink, a cot bed ... and a woman.

She was very tall and muscly, and there was the remnants of a permanent tan in her skin tone. She had tangled, dirty-blond hair that fell to her shoulders, with beads and feathers twisted into it. She wore clothes in the manner of one not used to them; a short blouse, fur boots and no skirts or trousers. Her frame was adorned with wooden Aztec plaques, shrunken heads and strange charms. She was inching towards Cortez, transfixed. She reached out for him, to touch him, as though a god was in her presence. The strangest thing was that she never spoke; only sighing, muted breaths fell from her mouth.

"This is my ... errr ... assistant," said Captain Ash hesitantly. "We need to get her out, but I don't have the key. We could use explosives, but she may be hurt in the blast. Besides, she doesn't like big bangs." He turned to the woman, and whispered "Don't worry, my precious, we'll soon get you out ..."

The woman wasn't really concentrating on the Captain. She was looking at Cortez like she was experiencing some sort of déjà vu.

"Check the other cells. There may be something you can use," advised Anya.

Cortez didn't need to look far. In the next cell along there was a barrel full of oil.

"Will this do?"

"What was that, old boy?"

Cortez ignored him.

"I guess so. If you can find a way of igniting it, it could blow a hole in the gate."

Cortez shot a burst of fire at the base of the barrel. Thick black oil leaked from the bullet-holes, trickling across the wooden floorboards. "Great; now what?"

"That flare gun from the wine cellar. Could that ignite the oil?"

"Only one way to find out." He gritted his teeth and fired the flare at the spreading oil.

The resulting explosion was incredible. The blast not only brought the rusty old bars crashing to the floor (almost taking Cortez with them), but a huge chunk of the wall to the next cell was smashed out like a god's sledgehammer. The woman vaulted and flipped through the ruined masonry and burning oil with the agility of a jaguar. Captain Ash sprinted in from the next room.

"You did it, my boy!" he shouted, thumping Cortez on the arm. He turned to the woman. "Are you all right, my dear? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

The woman mimed something.

"They did _what_?"

She dropped to all fours and started hopping around, like a ...

"LIKE A _MONKEY_? THOSE _BOUNDERS_!"

Cortez walked off; he had to find a way down. That was what the man said. The woman grunted and hooted something, as though trying to get his attention, but didn't know how to speak.

Anya noticed. "Who was she anyway? She was looking at you as though she knew you from somewhere."

"Last time I saw her," Cortez told Anya, "was when I was getting the crystals in the first place. She was accompanying the Captain to some Aztec ruins. He must have brought her back to Britain."

"Why didn't the Captain recognise you then?"

"The other time machine was meant for 'Splitters. They would possess a human from the time in order to spread the time crystals undetected. When I went back, I ended up taking over Captain Ash."

"Thank goodness mine is a more sophisticated design."

Cortez walked down a spiral stairway. There was an organ at the bottom. He hammered the keys experimentally, playing an old video game theme, before Anya began to berate him.

"Cortez, for God's sake, concentrate!"

"Hang on, I got this."

There was a sound on the other side of the link that sounded like a person getting out of a chair, walking across a room, and banging their head on the wall. Cortez thought it would be best for him to get a move on; he could do without testing Anya's patience.

Cortez pushed open a thick wooden door that led out into a cobbled courtyard. Cortez found the lack of guards slightly suspicious.

A thick, metallic grinding filled the air.

"What was that?" Anya asked.

It didn't long to find out. The base of the nearest tower was actually a huge pair of iron blast doors. They were slowly opening to reveal ...

A tank. A huge, armoured tank. With a machine gun turret on the top. Someone had called for backup.

"Oh my," said Anya. "A tank. I think we're in trouble."

"You don't say," spat Cortez. He dived behind a pile of sandbags, and just avoided a round from the machine gun.

A bundle of TNT lay beside him. "Some people can be so careless," he muttered.

"Hey, Cortez. Maybe you could use that."

"How?"

"Its armour will be weakest at the rear."

Cortez grabbed the explosive bundle and legged it. The tank was rotating to face him, as though deliberately trying to make his job as hard as possible. But the Space-Time Marine was faster.

He slammed the pack on the back end of the tank, hoping the magnetic pad caught. He primed the detonator, and ran for the nearest cover.

"Fire in the hole!"

If the tank commander had any idea what he was planning, he didn't have time to act. The explosion carried Sergeant Cortez off his feet. A great mushroom cloud had engulfed the primitive tank, every plate flying away from the epicentre and throwing debris high in the air. Cortez rolled to the side suddenly to avoid the mangled turret ploughing him into a smear of equally mangled flesh. Something sharp spiked him in the shoulder, but he was otherwise unharmed. Which was more than can be said for the tank crew; the guy in the turret was shorn in two across his waist, so his torso still sat in the turret. Cortez retched and looked away. The smell was incredible; a mixture of burned flesh and fuel.

"Wow, Cortez; you just took out a tank all by yourself! Very impressive, but now we must get going."

There was a elevator at the tower; that was how they brought the tank up. No sooner had Cortez stepped inside the tower than the floor shuddered and slowly moved downwards.

It was a long trip, but at the bottom it was a relief to get out of the shaft. It felt like falling down a well or something irrational like that.

The shaft opened into a huge underground cavern. A seaplane flew down the tunnel opening to the open sea.

"What is this place?" Anya asked, stunned.

"I don't know," Cortez admitted.

Cortez walked over a bridge. On the other side appeared to be a workshop of some sort. The bald man was tinkering with something on the table, muttering to himself. Cortez cleared his throat.

The man thumped the desk in irritation. He swung round, shouting, "I thought I told you not to interrupt ..!" He took one look at Sergeant Cortez and panic briefly crossed his eyes. "Me," he finished pathetically, before grabbing a large square device from the desk. He leered triumphantly, and pressed a button, before disappearing in the characteristic rippling haze of time travel. But there was something in his eyes that Cortez only just noticed; recognition.

Cortez shook himself. "Anya, did you see _that_?"

"Yes," said Anya, "But where did a human get a time device?"

"I don't know," said Cortez, rifling through the scattered papers. They mostly appeared to be schematics for technology that, to be blunt, shouldn't exist for decades, centuries even. "But if we find him, we find the crystals!"

"But we have absolutely _no_ idea on where and when he went!" shouted Anya in a distressed manner, as though, for the first time in her life, she had been beaten.

Cortez spotted an old photograph lying on the floor. It was a sepia print of two men. One was carrying an unusually stiff cat under his arm. "Would this help?"

"Hmm," said Anya, analytically. "Well, if I took a scan of the photo, and matched the landscape to our topographical database, then triangulated the heights and distances of the buildings, and cross-referenced _that_ with the architectural styles, I may be able to deduce some probable locations."

"How about Stanislav Train Depot, September 4th, 1969?"

"That's incredible, Cortez! How did you work _that_ out?"

"It's on the back of the photo."

"Oh," said Anya, presumably blushing with embarrassment at not thinking of it herself. "That's ... good enough for me. I'll set the time machine to those co-ordinates." There was a faint hammering of keys. "OK, all set. Cortez, are you ready?"

"Yeah," said Cortez enthusiastically. "It's time to SPLIT!" he added, pulling off a ninja-like stance.

"Riigghht, whatever," replied Anya, as though embarrassed by his company. Never mind the fact they were separated by four hundred and seventy-seven years.

Cortez' face fell as he was warped out.


End file.
